


Emrys (who wants to live forever anyway?)

by estel_willow



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-29
Updated: 2010-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:58:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estel_willow/pseuds/estel_willow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> He sees the wonder in the starry-eyed youths who are terrified of growing old, terrified of dying. </i>I want to live forever<i> they say, announce it to the world with their arms stretched out wide and their faces turned towards the sky. A promise to the clouds and to the stars, but He knows the reality.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Emrys (who wants to live forever anyway?)

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, written in about 40 minutes. It's my first dabble in the Merlin fandom, so please be gentle with me! =/

There's just something about living forever that isn't as awesome as people make it out to be. He sees the wonder in the starry-eyed youths who are terrified of growing old, terrified of dying. _I want to live forever_ they say, announce it to the world with their arms stretched out wide and their faces turned towards the sky. A promise to the clouds and to the stars, but He knows the reality.

After centuries of wandering and walking, never able to stop, each body grows old and dies only for Him to be reborn, a phoenix from the ashes. He is the last of his kind, now, the Old Religion and its creatures having long since been wiped from the world. All that remains now are stories, tales of fantastical creatures and mythical lands, of men with fire in their hands and in their hearts, golden eyes that could stir and army to move and a man with golden hair, a King of men who united a land and changed the ways of the world, tales of the King's court wizard, figures immortalised in myth and legend.

They don't know that He still walks the earth, can still command the magic that is weaved into the very earth with a flick of His fingertips even if He feels too old and too disenchanted to use it. Each time it takes Him less and less time to remember the lives before. When He is reborn to someone else, given another name, His old one echoes in the recesses of His mind, magic at His fingertips and when He remembers it is to pain and suffering and an aching sense of loneliness because He was deceived.

The Dragon had said Arthur would be coming back. That He wouldn't be alone for the rest of time because their story wasn't finished yet. The Dragon said that they would get their happy ending because it was their destiny but with each lifetime that passed, each old body that expired and each new form that was reborn, expelled from the womb to a new life and new memories that would fade rapidly, He felt more and more like it wasn't the truth. That maybe the Dragon had been lying to stop Him from slaying it.

He felt when the Dragon died, the last of the Dragonkin to have survived, an entire race gone in less than a century and He knew, then, that he was alone. He'd scoured the world looking for creatures, mythical magical creatures that he was kin to but none existed. Magic users became habitual, secretive after the witch hunts, the art dying out after years of disuse. Resurrected with Wicca and Paganism, in touch with the roots of the very magics that bore Him, but none as strong, none as potent.

He was a wanderer, a restless soul unable to find closure because of the life He'd lead, the world He'd come from and the person He'd left behind and would give anything to hold and have and keep because he'd been taken from Him before they'd had their chance, before they'd had any chance.

Each lifetime bought with it heartache, sometimes Arthur was there, a brash youth with a shock of blonde hair like a mop and that same grin, other times he was stoic and angry. Sometimes he was a soldier, others a diplomat but every time he never remembered Him, he remembered nothing and the light behind his eyes was genuine and real and happy, he didn't feel like he was missing anything, stuck with a longing he couldn't place because the memories just weren't there. He began to think that Arthur, _His_ Arthur was never to return.

Thoughts like that made Him want to find Arthur's tomb, curl up beside it and wait for the world to end. It might have seemed melodramatic, but when one was unable to die, everything lost its shine.

He begged and pleaded with the Powers to kill Him, to end His existence because they were never giving Arthur back and why should they? Arthur was human, an incredible man but a man nonetheless and he deserved no special treatment from the Powers, but Him? Had He not suffered enough for whatever perceived transgressions He had committed over those years? Over that time? Over the years between? Over the lifetimes of loss and life and sharp aches and longings that were never complete? Did He really deserve to watch Arthur again and again pass Him by without a second look?

His body was aged, now, hands trembling as He approached the end of yet another lifetime, knowing it wouldn't be long before He was back and He turned his eyes to the sky, another silent prayer, a silent plea to end it, or if they couldn't do that, to at least lock the memories away until He could find Arthur, until they could be together and then they could remember together.

He deserved that at least.

A wave of calm washed over Him as his eyes closed, accepting Death's embrace once more. It didn't scare him anymore, and he was on good terms with the Reaper that came to collect Him, hold Him until His new life was ready. He was always back and He always remembered.

*

In the Space Between, He sat on a rock and waited, watching souls go past with their blinded eyes, bargaining at the ferryman's harbour before climbing onto the boat and taking them away. He sees the casualties of a particularly nasty accident and a little girl walks over to Him and tugs on his fingers, asking Him: _are you coming too?_ and He shakes His head sadly at her.

 _Not this time_. It was weary. It always was.

She was called away, curled up in the arms of her mother and carried off, onto the boat and into Beyond, the place where He could never go.

Time had no meaning here and He doesn't know how long passes before His Reaper comes to find Him.

"Is it time?"

*

He's taken back a different way this time, stopping at a spiritual gateway that He'd never seen before.

The Lady walked out, smiled at Him and pressed two fingers to His forehead. His questions died on silent lips as her head shook.

She said only one word and graced Him with a kind smile.

She said: _Forget_.

*

Merlin had the misfortune to be born to a woman who had an obsession with Arthurian legends and decided that her first son from her deadbeat run-away husband needed to be named after the world's greatest wizard. He was teased for his name and for his ears, for the fact that he came from a single parent family but he didn't care because his mother was awesome and his best friends Will and Gwen were incredible and the best things ever and they'd been there since he was a baby.

Sometimes he felt like he was missing something, some _one_ but the feeling was quick enough to ignore. He had dreams, flashes of magic and knights, swords and dragons. Waking up reaching for something that was never there.

First day of college was rapidly approaching and he, Gwen and Will had gone against their parents wishes and all headed to college together, settling in to their dorms. Having been put into different halls, Merlin sat on his bed anxiously and waiting for his room mate to arrive.

When the door finally opened and Arthur Pendragon walked in, Merlin felt something strange slot into place in his chest and in his mind, a weird sense of belonging that he'd been missing and never quite felt before.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" his mouth asked, blurting the words out and Arthur turned blue eyes towards him.

"Probably, mate, I'm in a lot of magazines."

"No, I mean- I feel like-"

"-we know each other." Arthur finished and Merlin just nodded stupidly, his lips quirking into a wonky smile that was mirrored on Arthur's face as he pushed the door shut behind him.

"I'm Merlin," he said, clumsily pushing himself to his feet and holding out a hand to Arthur who, instead of shaking his hand wrapped his arms around Merlin's thin shoulders.

His voice was soft as he murmured, "I know."

And somewhere in the back of Merlin's voice, a voice cried out _finally_.

For the first time in over five hundred years, the soul of Merlin, First Court Wizard to King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, was at peace.


End file.
